You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2006.
A so-called cease-fire and we hope to have a calmer night. Last night was full of plane noises, flying so low that we saw them.
This morning I went to the general security in Jounieh to renew my residence permit. The officer on duty told me: good you came today and not last week because the Lebanese people were queuing to obtain their passports. I one day we had more than 300 demands. As there was almost nobody, I was done in half an hour. Now I have to go back in 8 days to receive my residence permit valid for 1 year.
Running back to our 2 schools. Apparently the weekends are hard for the displaced to come through. There’s less help and most of the dispensaries are closed and so many of them wait for us on Monday. The kids are excited. The Brothers of the christian schools, who promised to come and play with the kids do not show up. We try to cover up for them.
WV calls and asks to open Ayadina. Stocks have to be brought and bags filled for new families.
The policy has changed: due to the increased number of displaced, the families now need to register with the municipalities in the area they live in. Those municipalities i.c. Borj Hammoud and Sin el Fil will give us the lists of names after they have checked them and we will distribute them.
I’m glad to go home as the heat is unbearable. All volunteers suffer from the heat. Or are we getting tired, daily hoping that this war will end?
If I want you to believe me
I should be true to you
But mostly true to myself.
Lebanon is a beautiful green country,
full of energy, youth, activities and life.
Our people are honest, simple but wise,
And full of faith. But there are some exceptions.
I am a 21 years old Lebanese girl
who so far has experienced two wars in her life,
too many hate and hundreds of greedy politicians
and I have never stepped one foot out of this country.
I am not gonna tell you that I love living in Lebanon
because I will be lying. I’ve trying to leave it
because I want to live in peace.
I don’t want to fight and struggle no more.
I don’t want to be in a war
which is even not ours or our country.
I don’t want to be hurt and cry
whenever I see the Tower falling.
I had enough. We had enough.
I am not gonna lie to you but
I probably have lost hope in my country.
I have lost hope to see it rise and prosper again.
I probably have lost hope in Lebanese people
in rebuilding their country and learning from their mistakes.
But I didn’t lose hope in humanity.
In humans all over the world, who fight for what they stand for.
Who wave the human rights as if it is their constitution.
I am asking you. You who believe that you have the right of liberty,
security and mostly of life. DO SOMETHING.
Children and women are killed and starved to death every day.
Innocent people have lost too many till now and the worse is yet to come.
If you think that a human don’t have the right to live,
delete this message and don’t move a finger.
However if you do believe that everyone has the right to live
and chose their fate, have the liberty to defend our innocent people in Lebanon
and to do something you’ll be proud of for the rest of your life.
Tanya.
Cana…My God Cana again….It’s impossible..Cana was hit in 1996 when the April war of “les raisins de la colere” struck and made this big carnage. Today this very morning 55 people were killed, of which 27 innocent children, carnage…How many times a village can be struck and massacred and stand up again, rise up again? How many resurrections can there be for such a courageous village? Look at the pictures all over the world, broadcasted by all TV channels. Is that what it’s all about? Killing people systematically because no ceasefire can be obtained?
I’m really upset and scream for help via this technological channel. But I want to express my gratitude to all of you who participate in peaceful manifestations, who help in bringing more awareness to people, thank you all of you who keep on praying for peace. You are a consolation to us.
And also this is Lebanon: After mass we checked on our friend Pauline who moved to a safer place and while going back home, I saw a bride all dressed up, taking photos. She’s to be wed this afternoon. This says something about the Lebanese personality: Life goes on and the Lebanese have a very strong will to live and survive. It’s this that keeps them alive and going on and continues struggling.
The distribution yesterday from Ayadina premises went fine.
First we had prepared all goods together with volunteers of WV and ourselves…great teamwork. I admire those youth working silently for hours, carrying heavy boxes, stocking up stuff.
And then, we waited for the families to come. All went very smoothly and in a dignified manner. People arrived and registered their names and signed and were accompanied by volunteers to help them carrying their boxes, smiling and in a kind way.I feel that I receive as much as I give at those moments. About 300 families of all denominations received food and cleaning and hygienical products.
Now today I’m exhausted and didn’t move. Need some time to rest, reflect and pray in order to start afresh on Monday.
But people keep coming from the South. We had just finished our distribution when we heard that 35 new families had arrived from the till now isolated area of Ayn Ibl.
When arriving to the school this morning I was astonished to see a baby of 9 months moving his head uncontrolledly. As the little boy also suffers from diarrhea and vomitting, I was afraid of fits and epilepsy. So we took him and 7 other small children to our already well known dipensary Karaghosian the Armenian dispensary I wrote about on July 22.
Again their welcome is so genuine and professional. Pediatricians examine the children free of charge and whatever they have of medication are also given. In all the misery it’s refreshing to see how solidarity grows between NGO’s and how everyone is helped regardless of their beliefs.
Right now I was contacted by the (Belgian) Radio 2 VRT. My cousin Dirk was the contactperson and had asked me if I would agree talking to them. Why not? I said, as long as it’s a humanitarian talk and not a political one. This really is a dirty war. Are they all so dirty I wonder?
Both Tine and Sandra Called me and I was really happy talking to them and I thank them for the opportunity to express my thoughts and reality.
Theoretically I know there’s not such a things as complete “objectivity”, but I also know that very often news is not objective just because of the fact that the journalists do not have the accurate information. they might not speak the language or might not be able to talk to trustworthy sources…and of course there are many political reasons for being subjective.
Today has been a long day …first there was the bombing last night…then today we first played with the kids…they really look forward to this time just for them. they scream as soon as they see us.
This afternoon we started a new phase of aid: distribution centers.
All the NGO’s of the area gather all primary food at Ayadina, the NGO I work for. These are different kinds of donations: rice, spaghetti, beans ect. We sort it out and put it in small bags for each of the increasing number of displaced families. It takes a lot of effort and time but the spirits are high and all volunteers help wholeheartedly. We will distribute it tomorrow. Imagine this family that arrived yesterday and said they did not eat for 2 days. They only drank water, the baby is dehydrated.
This article is worth reading…
Lebanon has given me more than I ever could’ve asked: a home, a sense of belonging, an almost indecent number of happy memories. But aside from any debt to Lebanon, I won’t leave because I know how miserable I would be watching the war ravage my country from the outside. As long as my feet are firmly planted on Lebanese soil, I somehow know the country will survive.” Words written by A Columbia Alumnus currently residing in Beirut in an article published on why she isn’t leaving Beirut.
The article is pasted below, and can be found under Staying On Why I’m not evacuating Beirut.
By Faerlie Wilson BEIRUT, Lebanon:
From my balcony this afternoon, I watched as French, British, and American evacuees boarded chartered cruise ships in Beirut’s port about a half-mile west of my apartment.
And over the last few days, while bombs and artillery pummeled the southern part of the city, I made the decision not to leave Lebanon. Explosions rock my building even as I write this, but I’m staying put. I’m not crazy, and I harbor no death wish. This is simply the rational decision of someone who has built a life in Lebanon, who believes in this place and its ability to bounce back. I choose to bet on Beirut.
After five visits to Lebanon over as many years, I moved to Beirut from California this February. I’m a 24-year-old American with friends but no family here. But Lebanese hospitality makes it easy to feel at home; it’s a warm society that exudes and embodies a sense of interpersonal responsibility. Live here for two weeks and then go out of town, and you’ll get a dozen offers to pick you up at the airport upon your return.
So although I’m not Lebanese by blood, I have become Beiruti. There are plenty of us who fit that description, foreigners who fell in love with the place and its people. One friend, an American college student interning for the summer with a member of the Lebanese parliament, called in tears en route to the northern border to tell me her parents had forced her to leave. “I’m going to stay in Syria as long as I can,” she vowed. “In case things settle down and I can come back.”
Until the war broke out last week, this was to be Lebanon’s golden summer as last year’s tourist season having been dampened by the brutal car bomb that killed former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri in February 2005. This summer started off strong, with concerts by major Western artists that allowed the Lebanese to hope their country was returning to the prewar days when everyone who was anyone’s icons like Ella Fitzgerald, Marlon Brando, and Brigitte Bardot made regular stops in the country. Ricky Martin and 50 Cent performed in May and June, respectively, Sean Paul was on deck for July, and negotiations were under way to bring Snoop Dogg later in the summer. But the most anticipated concert was set for late July: the three-night return of legendary Lebanese diva Fairouz to the Baalbeck festival, where she first earned her fame in the 1950s and ’60s. The after-party for 50 Cent was typical over-the-top Beiruti, held at city’s most decadent nightclub, Crystal.
Lamborghinis and Ferraris crowded the parking lot; plasticated Lebanese girls in short skirts and spike heels danced on tables as waiters navigated the dance floor balancing trays laden with sparklers and magnums of champagne for high-rolling Saudi tourists, while Fiddy free-styled and openly smoked a joint. Tourists from the Arab world, Europe, and North America flooded the streets of cities and villages throughout the country. Gulf Arabs in particular have been drawn to Lebanon, especially in a post-9/11 era when they felt unwelcome in the West (and often had trouble obtaining visas). Lebanon offered many of the same attractions as Europe, but in an Arab setting: temperate climate, good shopping, plenty of tourist activities, and most important, heady nightlife and a liberal social atmosphere. Tourists partied till dawn, stormed the sales at Beirut’s designer boutiques, and visited sites like Lebanon’s ancient cedar groves and the Roman temples at Baalbeck. Now those magnificent ruins are surrounded by newer ones: The city of Baalbeck, long a Shiite stronghold, has received a heavy share of the Israeli bombardment. Falling bombs erase entire villages, fire and smoke cover the horizon, and visions of that promised summer have, in just over a week, evaporated. On the beaches of Damour and Jiyeh, the foreign visitors aren’t European sun junkies but Israeli missiles. And the cruise ships docked in the port aren’t bringing tourists to Lebanon, they’re taking them away. The contrast between Beirut today and Beirut two weeks ago is so stark, it would be unbearable if it weren’t so surreal. This isn’t my Beirut. This isn’t anyone’s Beirut. The frantic, vibrant city has shrunk into a sleepy town, with empty streets and only a handful of restaurants, bars, and shops open for business. It’s amazing how quickly you can get used to living under siege. We’ve taped our windows, stocked up on supplies, and settled into a perversion of normal life. Electric generators succeed where embattled power stations fail. I’ve learned what times the electricity, water, and Internet connection usually cut out, and I plan my days accordingly, an old Lebanese ritual from the days of the civil wars. Candles we bought as decoration are scattered throughout the apartment, half-burned down from long nights without electricity. An Israeli propaganda flier dropped on a university soccer field sticks out of my roommate’s copy of the now-obsolete July issue of Time Out Beirut, marking a page listing exhibitions at art galleries that have since boarded up their doors. The magazine only launched this spring, and it was easy to see it as yet another symbol that Beirut was finally being recognized as one of the world’s great cities. Travel and Leisure magazine listed Beirut as the ninth-best city in the world for 2006. In this part of the world, fortunes shift very quickly. Smaller explosions and the rushing of Israeli fighter jets overhead don’t startle or frighten me anymore. We are exhausted and have to save our emotional energy for the moments where panic is needed. Still, when larger blasts rattle my windowpanes and make the apartment shudder, I rush to the balcony to figure out which part of my city is being hit. Sometimes, it’s an easy game: Three days ago, my roommate and I watched as Israeli warships struck Beirut’s port. I know I’m reasonably safe in my corner of Beirut, and I have a place to go in the mountains if that ceases to be true. Unlike people in many other industries, I still have a job: The magazine where I work decided to publish an August issue -although it will lose money- as a sign of resistance and resilience. There is painfully little we, the ordinary people of Lebanon, can do to help the situation. So, instead, we do what we can to help each other by donating food and supplies, opening our doors to friends and strangers, and trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. We aren’t giving up. After the foreigners are gone, local wisdom predicts that the fighting will only get worse. At the very least, there will be less protective padding – a fear of foreign casualties that may have restrained Israel to some degree. Evacuating Beirut would feel a lot like abandoning it. I know that my staying won’t keep the Israelis from intensifying their attacks, but at least I won’t be complicit, seeing events unfold on a TV screen from the comfort of Cyprus. So, I’ll watch those ships pull away without regret. Lebanon has given me more than I ever could’ve asked: a home, a sense of belonging, an almost indecent number of happy memories. But aside from any debt to Lebanon, I won’t leave because I know how miserable I would be watching the war ravage my country from the outside. As long as my feet are firmly planted on Lebanese soil, I somehow know the country will survive. People ask me if I’m scared, and I am – but for Lebanon more than for myself. This place and its people deserve far better than what they’re getting. There’s a sad, unstated “what will become of us?” question floating around the Lebanese who are left behind. I need to stay here, if only to learn the answer.
Do you know a person named Georges Bakouni?
Do you know a father named Georges Bakouni?
Do you know a bishop named Georges Bakouni?
Well, I do and I’m grateful and happy to know him.
In case you don’t know him,
He is a bishop in Tyre and lots of southern villages.
He is still there with his people, his children
He offers them help
He welcomes them in his bishopric
And what he most asks for are prayers.
WHY ?
Because…
He knows that this is an evil war
A war that kills innocent people
A war that kills a whole country
A war that can kill him as well.
I am afraid for his life.
I am afraid to loose a good person like him.
I am afraid for the good ones in Lebanon to be killed
And most of all, I am afraid to see all them dying and me doing nothing.
Today one more time, I have this cry inside me:
A cry for human life
A cry for children
A cry for Love
A cry for the good people like Georges
When Love is dying
And Good is vanishing
And Evil is blossoming
then I am dead and you too.
So we have 2 choices:
to watch such things happen and die
or act and maybe live
With all my respect for a true father
May God protect you!
Dona
Today I underwent a minor surgery under local anesthesia. While suffering a little bit I couldn’t help thinking of all those wounded (in Lebanon and in all countries suffering from war) who need to undergo major surgery and do not have the necessary anesthesia…where shortages are so huge that people have to wait to undergo surgery, or where they perform minor ones without anesthesia.
Recent Comments